Somewhere To Me
by Blaze6
Summary: Saliva swapping and the aftermath of an awkward conversation. Follows Can't Be.


Title: Somewhere To Me  
  
Author: Blaze  
  
Summary: Saliva swapping and the aftermath of an awkward conversation. Follows Can't Be.  
  
Rating: PG, small spoiler for Burden of Proof, SDD, and of course, Can't Be.  
  
Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS, Alliance-Atlantis, Anthony Zuiker, etc. My name's not in there, I don't own anything. Well, the un-copyrighted parts of this story, but that's it.  
  
Feedback: Positive welcome, G+S.com has permission to archive if they want it, anyone else ask.  
  
Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from, I wasn't going to write it, but a couple of people asked very nicely, so here it is. Anyway, I can't really thank anyone for beta-ing, because I didn't have it beta-ed. I can thank Devanie, who wrote one line, if you can find it, you're a fanfic wonder. All past tense is prequel, all present tense is sequel, which should be clear, but I just thought I'd get any confusion out of the way. And, look, the title's part of the story. Shocking. G It probably blows fatty, nasty chunks (my friend's words, not mine), but try to enjoy it anyway.  
  
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She is so overwhelmed she feels like throwing a tantrum.  
  
He feels so uncomfortable in her presence that he pretends she doesn't exist.  
  
Neither solution is working.  
  
  
  
Over a comparison microscope, under which a slide of two hairs rested for testing, she'd leaned over spontaneously and kissed him. In full view of anyone walking by, his hand had crept up to her cheek, deepening the kiss.  
  
Yes, he'd seemed okay with it at first, almost willing it to go on forever.  
  
Until he realized who he was kissing.  
  
  
  
She doesn't want to speak to him, understandably. He's committed an act of treason, he's hurt her feelings. She doesn't mean to stare him down with every ounce of that hurt, but it happens anyway.  
  
He can't help thinking that he's unintentionally shattered the sacred wall of friendship, when all he'd meant to do was save it. And it seems his words have had the exact same effect as a long ago, "The lab needs you."  
  
It is getting uncomfortable for the others to be around them. The tension is the latest seedy underbelly of a workplace where there are a thousand layers of seedy; how could they avoid noticing? It's not like the two of them have been very subtle.  
  
The situation is very blurred around the edges, smeared, like a painting where the artist gets angry at what he has done and runs his hands through the colors, mixing and mixing until the original is nothing but shadows and shades of gray. It shouldn't be.  
  
It was as if his conscience had screamed, "It's Sara! Back off!"  
  
So he had. Rather forcefully. As she later put it, he put the car in reverse and hit the gas pedal.  
  
His only comment to a confused but pleased Sidle was, "I'll be right back."  
  
  
  
He can't explain exactly what's not in his heart. She can't stand the not knowing.  
  
He knows she wants him to love her, he wants him to love her, but he can't. It's not a choice, God knows if it were, he'd love her the way she wants him to, but it's not. Love. . .no, it's no choice.  
  
It's a ghost.  
  
  
  
She bought the cigarettes and the lighter with a bottle of water at a gas station convenience store on her way home, excavated her pockets to find the exact nineteen cents she needed.  
  
She dashed into the car and ripped the cellophane off the pack, shaking a cigarette out and lighting it with the frenetic energy of a hummingbird.  
  
Caught the clerk chuckling as her first smoke in two years made her cough. Not my brand, she thought angrily as the nicotine worked its way into her system. And damn it, I just got. . .  
  
What could she call it? Ditched. By someone she didn't think would ditch her.  
  
  
  
It is no longer feasible for me to perform my duties within the department.  
  
The words glare out at him, bold and simply stated. It is Sara in one cryptic sentence. It is eight by eleven, quality paper. He recognizes the watermark. The signature at the bottom is hers, no need to call QD on this one.  
  
This is one of the many reasons he stopped the kiss. And it happened anyway, her gun a willing paperweight on this letter of resignation. He notes that the barrel of the weapon is facing his chair, doesn't want to think about what she is trying to tell him.  
  
I can't stand being around you and your indifference right now. A rough translation from the formal of her letter to Sara-speak.  
  
Under the circumstances, he shouldn't know Sara-speak.  
  
  
  
She didn't want to go in, so she sat on the front steps and smoked. Waited for him to show up, to explain himself, to. . .  
  
What? You knew something like this could happen. Remember the chalk? He couldn't work with you for weeks after that. You knew.  
  
And you did it anyway.  
  
  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
She meets his eyes for the first time in days and gives him a pointed look and an eyebrow, returns to the article she's been reading. "We talked."  
  
"Not enough. We didn't talk enough."  
  
She tells the paper, "What did we not talk about? You don't feel the way I do. I'm okay with that."  
  
"Are you?" She shrugs. "Sara, put the newspaper down."  
  
She complies with a grumbled, "Aye-aye, captain."  
  
  
  
His "be right back" lasted for hours. And when he had come back, she'd gone home.  
  
On his way to her, he ran over all the things he could say, dismissed them all as dishonest and unfair. He couldn't look her in the eye and tell her he wanted it to go further. He couldn't look her in the eye and tell her kissing her was a mistake.  
  
Four trips around her block later, he pulled into the only open parking space in front of her building.  
  
  
  
"You wouldn't be leaving if you were okay with it, Sara."  
  
Her eyes widen at the insinuation. "You think I'm leaving because you're not head over heels for me, Grissom? You're too smart to be this dense."  
  
"So you're not leaving because of me?" His eyebrows narrow. He is sure that's why she's leaving.  
  
"Ah, I didn't say that, did I?"  
  
She notes with glee that he is monumentally confused. "But you just said. . ."  
  
"I never said you aren't why I'm leaving. I said your not loving me isn't why I'm leaving."  
  
"So, I am why you're leaving." Still confused.  
  
"Your attitude towards me, more specifically. But yes, you're why I'm leaving."  
  
"I don't want you to go." This surprises both of them. "I don't. You're an asset to the unit, you're my friend."  
  
"And sometimes being friends means you have to let go."  
  
He frowns, looks to the linoleum for answers. "I wish we'd never. . ."  
  
"I don't." She shoots him a smile. "I wouldn't take it back, Gris. It was. . .nice. And we needed a little nice."  
  
"Even though it caused all of this-" he gestures at the space between them. "Tension?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm. Even though it caused all of this tension."  
  
She gets up from the chair, and goes to leave the breakroom. Placing a hand on his shoulder as she walks by, she whispers, "I've never regretted anything when it comes to you, Grissom. Not a day, not a moment."  
  
He looks up at her with unreadable eyes, which she takes a closer look at as she brushes her lips against his. "This isn't the end," she says softly. "Even if I don't see you before I go. . ."  
  
"You'll always be somewhere to me," he finishes. She smiles lightly at the memory, at a long ago discussion about disappearing, at his impeccable recall of their promise.  
  
"Always." 


End file.
